


Tinting

by prototyping



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Gen, I think "friendship" is too strong a word for this, Platonic Relationships, Prompt Fill, but lbh it's the closest vanitas is getting to one, genfic, post-kh3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 11:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10898316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: “Light and darkness are two sides of the same coin.” So what about those who hang in the balance between? Roxas + Vanitas, post-KH3.





	Tinting

“You’re _still_ here?”

The flat greeting was nothing less than what Roxas expected. As he closed the portal behind him and warm evening air replaced the biting chill of the Corridors, he spared only the most passing of glances at the wielder sitting nearby.

Well, “sitting” probably wasn’t the right word. Dark-clad and only just visible against the wide, blue-black sky behind him, the only other presence in this world sat atop one of many broken stones scattered about. He was hunched over to rest his elbow on his raised knee, his temple pressed against his fist while his free leg hung casually over the side. For all intents and purposes he looked utterly casual and at ease -- but his glinting, golden eyes were a little _too_ watchful, a little _too_ aware despite the utter disregard he spat in Roxas’ direction.

Vanitas wasn’t just sitting -- he was perched there, at the highest point in the area (intentionally, surely) which meant nothing and nobody would come or go around here without him knowing. It reminded Roxas of the alley cats in Twilight Town, lurking on rooftops or windowsills as they watched the people pass below with territorial interest.

“That’s what I should ask you,” Roxas replied, unruffled. “I actually leave.”

“But you come back,” Vanitas pointed out, sounding annoyed. “All the worlds out there and you gotta pick this one to come meditate every week?”

Roxas ignored him. He had his reasons for being here and they weren’t any of Vanitas’ business; really, he figured Vanitas didn’t even expect an answer. That remark felt like more of a jab than a real question. Instead, Roxas moved a few yards away to sit down in the patchy grass with his back to another large stone. The Keyblade Graveyard -- or the Badlands, as he’d heard others refer to this desert area away from the ancient battleground -- was still a scene of stone and dry earth as far as the eye could see… and yet there were a few small spaces, like here, where green had begun to rear its head. Maybe one day it would manage to grow into something bigger and better, perhaps an oasis in this otherwise dead land, but for now the short blades of grass were still fighting to stay alive.

It was quiet out here, almost eerily so. Roxas felt the buzz in his head and the ache in his skull immediately begin to fade, and barely held back a relieved sigh. He leaned forward and closed his eyes -- just for a moment -- and the darkness was comfortable against his eyelids. Soothing. When he raised his head again he saw in the corner of his eye that Vanitas had turned away, but there was no doubt that he was still watching Roxas with his other senses.

“If I keep coming back, then why do you stay?” Roxas wondered, turning the question back at him. “You’re not worried the others’ll find out?”

“If I was, don’t you think I’d have ambushed you by now to shut you up?” Craning his neck until it popped, Vanitas gave a low, dismissive snort. “Nah. You’re not gonna tell anybody.” He somehow managed to make that simple observation sound like an insult. Or maybe it was just arrogant, saying he found Roxas predictable.

Roxas had been surprised, to say the least, to find that one of the Thirteen Seekers had survived the War. As far as Sora and everybody else knew, all of Xehanort’s forces -- minus Isa -- had died on this land. The only thing more more surprising than Vanitas’ existence was that he chose to linger here, of all places… Then again, it wasn’t as though any other wielder had reason to come here. Too many bad memories and scars to tempt them back to an empty world. If Vanitas sought to avoid detection, this well-known place was, ironically, probably the best place to hide out.

Roxas wondered, but he never asked. This was the third time they had met here and both subsequent times he had expected to return and find Vanitas gone -- but he was always here, always in the same place as though he never left. Maybe he didn’t.

Leaning back against the cool rock, Roxas stared skyward. The night was clear and packed with hundreds of stars, the moon half full and casting numerous shadows along the ground. Whenever a breeze decided to pick up, it was light and only barely disturbed his hair and the strings on the front of his coat.

He figured this night would pass in total silence like the last, so he was caught off guard when Vanitas spoke again. “So. How’re those headaches?”

Roxas straightened up quickly, shooting him a hard, suspicious look. Vanitas was preoccupied with absently scraping something off the backs of his knuckles, but the corner of his mouth was twisted in a knowing smirk. He hadn’t asked out of concern. He’d wanted a reaction. “What?” Roxas countered lamely.

“Don’t play stupid,” Vanitas chided. “You come out here every week, all wound up and tense, then you stay for a couple hours and by the time you leave you’re relaxed. You come here to get away from something. It’s always at night, so the only thing this world has goin’ for it is that it’s quiet and dark, which is apparently worth the risk of being around me. You’re way too friend-happy to want to get away from _people_ , so if you come alone, you must be hiding something from the others. And if you haven’t told them about me… you must not want them asking why you were out here in the first place." This time he did look over, one eyebrow cocked as if in challenge. Daring Roxas to say he was wrong.

Roxas stared. That was the most he had ever heard Vanitas speak at once -- no, he had probably just said more now than he had in every other meeting of theirs combined. More than that, his analysis was impressively in-depth and on-point. Despite his projected apathy, he was very observant -- and intelligent. When Roxas hesitated, Vanitas turned away again. “Thought so.”

“Why do you think I have headaches?” Roxas wondered once he’d recovered from his surprise.

“You sit in the shadows. You always look straight at me unless the moon’s in my direction. It’s because even the moonlight hurts your eyes, right?”

Roxas was too baffled to even feel annoyed. It was all true. He came out here because it was the opposite of Twilight Town -- dark, quiet -- and he needed that break when the pain and noise in his head became too much to bear. It didn’t happen often -- at least, most occurrences were minor and pretty easy to ignore -- but on some nights, like tonight, it was overwhelming. He wasn’t sure if “headache” was the right word, but it was close enough: his thoughts became muted and scattered and he found it difficult to focus, like his brain was a radio suffering heavy interference and spitting out static. His emotions were a rollercoaster: he was fine one minute, angry the next, and then borderline depressed without warning. With this mess came a throbbing that only worsened as his frustration built, which in turn made him even more frustrated, and the painful cycle continued.

There was nothing he could compare it to, and yet it had been happening at random ever since waking from Sora’s heart. Had Xion been going through the same, Roxas might have suspected a connection there with the timing, but she’d said that she was fine. He had been honest with her and Lea both about the issue, but neither of them had an answer for him. Being around anybody seemed to make his head hurt more, but for some reason his best friends made it even worse -- and as Vanitas had guessed, that was why Roxas hadn’t told them about his outings here. It seemed pointless to make them worry over him even more when they couldn’t do anything for him, and he didn’t want to try and tell them that their presence sometimes hurt him more than it helped him.

Out here, in the unnatural silence and simple darkness, Roxas was able to concentrate through all the pain and chaos in a way that no other location provided. That was one reason he kept coming back. The lack of hostility on Vanitas’ part, while suspicious, was another. Of course, that didn’t mean he _trusted_ Vanitas; Roxas always kept him in his sight.

As if on cue another bolt of discomfort shot up from the base of his neck to his right eye. Roxas pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, grunting sharply and quickly trying to clear his mind. He was thinking too much. He needed to pull back and refocus on the sky and the silence and let them take all the noise and feelings away--

Except some of those thoughts and emotions had voices now, echoing in his head in different volumes and tones and each one grating on the painful pulses that were in rhythm with his increasing heartbeat. He grasped at his head with both hands now, only vaguely aware that he was hissing under his breath at them to _shut up_ \--

He didn’t know how long it went on, but it felt like forever. When the static faded and the pain finally subsided, he found his shoulders were damp with sweat and his heart was pounding loudly in his ears. It took a moment for the dots of light in his vision to clear and let his eyes readjust to the low lighting. It took another for him to realize that Vanitas was crouching in front of him.

Roxas was on his feet in an instant -- a movement that nearly put him on his back when a sudden sense of vertigo made the world around him spin. Vanitas also stood, but more slowly, clearly unalarmed by Roxas’ defensive reflexes. Only then did Roxas notice that he wasn’t as close as he’d initially thought; they were about three arm’s lengths away from one another, but that was still closer than they had ever been. Too close for an enemy.

Vanitas’ stare was calculating, belying the disinterested expression on the rest of his face. “You’re a real mess inside,” he observed. Those eyes thinned, a cocky and borderline amused look. “You have no idea what it is, do you.” It wasn’t a question.

To that, Roxas could only glare. Vanitas was mocking him, that much was obvious, but it was hard to tell whether he actually knew something.

When the silence stretched on, Vanitas smirked again, openly this time -- and then suddenly asked, “It’s always about your friends, isn’t it?”

Puzzled, Roxas hesitated, expecting an explanation for that random question -- only to hear himself blurt heatedly, “At least I _have_ some!” He reacted with a start, eyes wide, as Vanitas gave a short, cutting bark of a laugh.

“You really are screwed up.”

 _Just like before… Why…_ Try as he might to check his temper, Roxas felt it flare. “What is going _on?_ ” he snapped. “How much do you know? What’s wrong with me?”

“Hmph.” The amused light in Vanitas’ eyes went out. “You really haven’t figured it out? The voices, the feelings... the sensation of your mind being pulled in different directions at once?” When Roxas didn’t answer, Vanitas turned away with another impatient sound and started to walk off. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he muttered.

“What…?”

“It happens when a person’s split into two. If the heart and mind can’t cope, they start reaching out to their other halves.” He stopped. “Think,” he prompted without turning around. “Whose voice does it sound like? Who comes to mind when you let your guard down and let those emotions in?”

_‘Split into two.’_

Roxas scowled. “I’m not _half_ a heart--”

“Ventus,” Vanitas answered, talking loudly and firmly over him. “Even I can see him in you, and I don’t mean your face. But you probably have some Sora mixed in there, too, huh?” Roxas stayed silent; Vanitas glanced over his shoulder. “I wonder how long you have until you break under all that weight.”

“Is that what happened to you?” Roxas shot back. He didn’t know much about Vanitas -- just that he was tied closely to Ven, he _felt_ like Ven, and he had been involved with Xehanort for a long time.

Vanitas turned back around, his features carefully controlled and utterly unreadable. “...If you think _I’m_ broken,” he said coolly, “you’re more sheltered than he ever was.” Again he turned away, but Roxas called after him.

“Wait.” For a moment he thought Vanitas would ignore him and keeping going; but after a few more steps he did stop. “Do you… do you know how to stop it, somehow?”

“Even if I did, why should I help you? And why should you think I can be trusted?”

Those were both good questions. Roxas suppressed another pained wince. “If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve tried it a few minutes ago. I haven’t told anybody that you’re alive, either -- and if you--”

Vanitas moved in a blur, disappearing and reappearing beside Roxas in the space of a heartbeat. Roxas tensed, but not fast enough -- something struck the back of his knee and he was shoved backwards as a dark light flashed in front of his face. He hit the ground on his back before instinct finally kicked in and he summoned his Keyblade, but the sound of clashing metal said that Vanitas’ weapon was faster. It pinned Roxas’ blade against the dirt, rendering it useless. Roxas opened his left hand, prepared to summon a second -- but then Vanitas knelt down on his left, jamming a knee between Roxas’ chin and collarbone. He put enough weight and pressure forward to keep Roxas pinned and make breathing highly uncomfortable, but not enough to crush his throat.

Despite that flurry of movement, Vanitas looked bored as he stared down at Roxas and ignored his feeble struggling. “ ‘If I want to keep it that way, I should help you out?’ ” he guessed. Then he sneered, cocking his head a fraction. “Don’t even entertain the notion that you’re in a position to threaten me. Actually, I wonder what would happen if I did kill you here and now -- would one of them feel it and come running? Or is your heart the only one too weak to stand on its own--”

Roxas let go of Oblivion and summoned Oathkeeper in the same hand to lash out in a hasty, messy, and angry slash that worked: Vanitas jerked backwards out of the way and Roxas leapt to his feet, both Keyblades in hand now as he rounded on the other wielder. Vanitas sneered again, his poise relaxed as he walked slowly to the right. Roxas did the same, so that they both moved in a wary circle as they regarded one another.

“Looks like you got some of his temper. Good.” The casual nonchalance was gone from Vanitas’ voice. It was deeper now, almost a growl, with a touch of something intense and hateful. “Show me what you can do with it.”

Roxas moved first, but only by a quarter of a second.

Minutes later, Vanitas hit the ground as his Keyblade went clattering out of reach. Roxas remained on his feet, but slouched and panting hard. When Vanitas made no sign of immediate recovery, both his Keyblades disappeared in identical flashes of light.

With a neutral-sounding grunt Vanitas sat up, but he moved no further than that just yet. He ignored Roxas’ tense reaction and again popped his neck, dismissing his own Keyblade as well without even looking at it. Then he met Roxas’ hard stare with a look that appeared… expectant. “You’re welcome,” he said flatly.

Roxas dared to relax slightly as, once again, Vanitas threw him for a loop. “Huh?”

Vanitas took his time in standing, continuing to disregard Roxas as though they hadn’t just fought tooth and nail for nearly ten minutes. He dusted the dirt and grass from his sleeves before adding matter-of-factly, “The pain makes you angry. That anger needs an outlet. You have to know how to get rid of it long before you can ever hope to control it.”

 _What--?_ Then Roxas realized: the aches and confusion and general chaos in his head -- it was all gone. His thoughts were silent except for his own. “An outlet?” he echoed.

“Once you know how to separate yourself from it, you can learn how to consciously block the connection. You’ll never have to worry about it again,” Vanitas added lightly, sarcasm twisted tight around the words as he glanced sidelong at Roxas. “Assuming you have what it takes.”

_Is that… really why he fought me?_

Vanitas didn’t wait for a response. He returned to his stone perch from before, leaping up onto it with ease. “Get lost,” he added indifferently. “Meditation hour’s over.”

Again, Roxas stared. The more things made sense, the _less_ they did. Why had Vanitas helped him after saying he wouldn’t? And was he offering to do the same if Roxas came back again? As much as he wanted to ask, Roxas could tell he wouldn’t be getting any straight answers. He would probably be pushing his luck, too. So after watching Vanitas uncertainly for a few more moments, he finally opened a Corridor to home and left without another word.

* * *

The next time Roxas returned, Vanitas was still there. And he gave Roxas all of three seconds to prepare himself before he attacked.

They fought, Roxas felt better, and he left, without the two of them exchanging a single word. The next time, it was the same thing. And then the next, and the next.

It could hardly be said that Vanitas was doing him a kindness. He didn’t pull any punches; Roxas walked away with more than a few bruises and cuts, fortunately nothing that couldn’t be healed or hidden, and he was half-convinced that several of those attacks would have killed him outright if he hadn’t been quick enough to avoid or parry them.

One such evening, their match ended in a draw. That seemed to be the silent agreement, at least, when neither of them moved to rise from where they each had fallen. Roxas lay on his back in the short grass, his gaze settled on the sky but unfocused. Aside from his rapid heartbeat, the only sound was his and Vanitas’ low panting, which both of them managed to quiet within a few minutes.

For the first time in weeks, Roxas spoke to him. “What are you gonna do after this is over?” Vanitas was silent. “You’re only helping me because you get somethin’ out of it,” Roxas told him. It was a simple statement, not an accusation. “You like fighting me, right? If I don’t need an outlet anymore, I don’t need to fight you. Then what?”

Another long silence followed. He decided not to push. If Vanitas didn’t answer soon, Roxas would take that as indication that this visit was over. Or maybe Vanitas had changed his mind, and wouldn’t teach Roxas anything in order to keep him coming back. It seemed like a pretty flawed way of thinking at a glance, since Roxas could just as easily fight somebody he knew… but then he immediately realized that no, it wouldn’t be the same. He could go all out against Vanitas without fear of killing him -- not because he didn’t care if he did, but because Vanitas did the same against him. Vanitas could keep up with everything he had to offer, including the anger that Roxas funneled into his attacks. He would never risk using that kind of power against Xion or Lea or anybody he called a friend. Killing Heartless didn’t do it for him, either. They weren’t really a challenge.

“You have to focus on the one who’s interfering with your head,” said Vanitas suddenly. Roxas sat up to look at him, but Vanitas was still on his back. Maybe it was just because Roxas hadn’t heard his voice in such a long time, but he thought it didn’t sound as harsh as he remembered. It was still rough, however, still laidback and apathetic. “It’s the same as when you put all your frustration and focus into fighting. Focus on Ventus and Sora instead, and push out all the thoughts and feelings that aren’t yours. Push them away with the same force you use to swing at me. It’s no different -- it’s just in your head instead of your hands.”

Roxas opened his mouth to reply, only to shut it again after a few seconds. So that was the secret -- and Vanitas had given it up, just like that?

Vanitas did sit up then, setting his arm on his knee and still not looking over. “Try that the next time you feel overwhelmed,” he added, “and if you’re strong enough, the connection will close. If you’re not, that’s your problem, not mine.”

Slowly, Roxas nodded. “Right… Okay. I’ll try it.” Vanitas only continued to stare at the distant horizon. “So you’re staying here?” Roxas inquired.

“Does it matter?”

No, Roxas supposed, it really didn’t. Unless Vanitas started causing havoc somewhere or attacked one of his allies, there was really no reason to tell anybody about him now -- which also meant there was no need for Roxas to concern himself with where Vanitas ended up. Logically speaking, there was no reason to press… But he was curious, and that was something else.

“I’m not telling anybody either way. It’s just weird that you’d pick this place.”

“Hmph. Speak for yourself.”

Fair point. It wasn’t as though either side had good memories of this world; Roxas and Vanitas were probably both the odd ones out for returning here willingly. Between that and the technique Vanitas had taught him, it seemed as though they had a few things in common.

After a couple more silent minutes of letting his body temperature cool, and then casting Cura over his scrapes and bruises, Roxas stood up. There was really nothing else to be said, but he still hesitated. After weeks of more or less getting used to Vanitas’ company, it was odd to think this was the end of it.

Extending a hand, he summoned a Corridor that would take him back home, where he belonged. Still he lingered. And then he said the only thing that seemed appropriate.

“...Thanks.”

Something like a surprised twitch went through Vanitas’ shoulders -- it was so subtle that Roxas nearly missed it in the dark -- and he finally turned to fix Roxas with a hard, almost suspicious look. Roxas held it, just long enough to say that the word was an earnest one.

Then he turned and left without looking back.

* * *

Vanitas liked the silence. He just didn’t care for the stillness.

He wasn’t antsy by nature. He was patient, collected, and generally pretty easygoing, despite the impression he’d probably given his enemies. In those first few weeks after the dust had settled and, broken and clinging to life, he’d literally dragged himself back to full health, he learned to appreciate the calm and quiet of the barren world he’d always taken for granted. Even his warmongering spirit and hungry bloodlust had settled down for a while, content to let him take in the simple joy of being alive.

And then Roxas had shown up.

The urge to kill him had been strong. Part of it was personal -- his voice, his attitude, his _face_ \-- but most of it was the sudden and jarring presence of another person after being alone for so long, which somebody like Vanitas could only perceive as negative and regard as a threat. Curious, however, Vanitas had resisted and watched and waited. His patience paid off.

Roxas was an unexpected challenge -- but a welcome one. Vanitas had been so intent on the seven Guardians before that he hadn’t given much attention or even thought to their allies, and he was admittedly surprised to find that Roxas was easily on their level. Unlike the Seven, however, there was something dark in him -- but not like Terra, not like Riku. It wasn’t the darkness of pride, but of layers and layers of hurt that had been covered over and scratched open again on numerous occasions. Roxas carried darkness like a scar, not a weapon.

Vanitas wasn’t sure how he’d been able to tell the difference so clearly. Maybe it was their common tie to Ventus, or his own proficiency with the nature of all kinds of darkness, or something else entirely. He found Roxas to be an easy read, and he exploited it. Everything Vanitas told him was true, but not once had his advice considered Roxas’ best interests over his own.

On that last evening Roxas guessed right: Vanitas had started looking forward to their fights. It was a challenge he couldn’t get elsewhere -- not yet, anyway -- and it kept his skills sharp, besides. The arrangement benefited them both, but most importantly it benefited Vanitas.

It had until now, anyway. A week after Roxas left for the last time, Vanitas remained in the Badlands. He would go elsewhere, eventually, but much was happening in the World since the end of the War and it was best to let that smooth over before he risked being detected. It was boring here, but that was fine. He was patient.

More than once, he wondered if he should have cut Roxas loose so soon. Vanitas hadn’t done him that favor out of kindness, either, but because he’d only tolerated Roxas as long as he was quiet. He was observant, much more so than Ventus, and Vanitas didn’t like his commentary or his questions, or the idea that somebody else was reading into him, and accurately. It was then that he also realized he’d become more or less comfortable with Roxas’ presence, willing to turn his back on him outside of their fights and just generally tolerating him far more than he had tolerated anybody other than Xehanort -- and that needed to stop. Vanitas’ options came down to giving Roxas what he wanted or killing him; and after assessing his ability for this long, Vanitas could have honestly said (to himself, at least) that he wasn’t totally confident in winning a true death match.

So they had both finally gotten what they wanted -- Roxas, answers; Vanitas, independence and isolation -- but the more it weighed on Vanitas’ mind that he wouldn’t find another opponent of that caliber willing to fight him regularly, the more he began to feel something he never had before. Another form of negativity, but this one wasn’t angry as much as… disappointed, with the echoes of a frustrated ache towards what he might and maybe should have done. He had no name for that emotion. Worse, he had nothing and nobody to take it out on.

He was beginning to seriously consider battling his Unversed -- something he knew he would regret -- when he suddenly heard the night air split in two. It was a familiar sound, but he had already conditioned himself to disregard every part of his routine with Roxas that it startled him all the same. Vanitas was on his feet in a heartbeat, facing the yawning portal with a hard stare and tense poise as his mind shuffled quickly through the possibilities, the worst being that Roxas had given him away, after all--

It was indeed Roxas who stepped through. His eyes moved straight to Vanitas, who summoned Void Gear to his side without otherwise budging. And then, to his surprise, the Corridor closed. Roxas was alone.

It was a struggle for Vanitas to keep the curiosity off his face -- at least, until he put two and two together. “What. Too weak to control it, after all?”

Roxas gave a light shake of his head. “No. I did like you said, and it works. I can’t hear them anymore.” He actually smiled, and that threw Vanitas for a loop more than anything else might have.

“And?” he prompted. He had to keep his tone snappy to hide his confusion. “You’re here, why?”

In a flash of light Roxas also summoned his Keyblade -- one of them, anyway, which was how he always began in their fights. He never went all-out from the start. “I was bored,” he said simply. “I thought you might be, too.”

Vanitas stared. Roxas waited.

_Are you stupid?_

_What do you really want?_

_What, are you here to try and get another read on me or something?_

Each of those questions and more flickered through Vanitas’ mind, a few making it as far as the back of his tongue but no further. He hesitated for a full half a minute, all of his thoughts hidden by the dead silence of the desert and his own carefully neutral face.

Then he broke the stillness by shifting his weight slightly, and just that simple movement made Roxas tense warily. _Smart_ , Vanitas couldn’t help thinking with some approval.

“Don’t get used to it,” Vanitas told him. He hoped Roxas didn’t read too much into what was meant to sound like resigned indifference.

A second later there was the resounding, familiar, and thrilling shriek of steel on steel.


End file.
